Before Today
by larrydrarryklaine
Summary: In which Larry Stylinson and sadness occur. Oneshot.


**ATTENTION: THIS STORY IS ABOUT A BAND THAT I CREATED IN MY HEAD. THE BAND IS CALLED "NO DIRECTION" AND THE MEMBERS ARE AS FOLLOWS:  
-HARRY STILES  
-LOUIS THOMLINSON  
-ZAYN MALICK  
-LIAM PAIN  
-NIALL HORAM  
ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS STORY ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY LIKENESS TO ACTUAL PEOPLE AND/OR EVENTS IS COMPLETELY COINCIDENTAL AND UNINTENTIONAL.**

**A/N: One may call this a trigger. **

Before today, if anyone had ever come up to me and said "Louis Thomlinson cuts himself." I would have laughed in their face. But now, sitting in a hospital waiting room, it doesn't seem so funny. I glance up from my shoes to look at the faces around me. Zayn's face is blank, unreadable. But when he catches me looking he lifts the corners of his mouth sadly and wraps an arm around my shoulders. Liam is concerned, all over and inside you can see it. His brow furrowed, his back hunched, his mouth set to what seems to be a perpetual frown. Niall just sits there and squirms. He's not one to sit and dwell on the bad, he likes to get up and actually do something about it. But this time he can't. No, this situation if broken far beyond repair.

"Boys?" I stand so fast I nearly break my neck. A nurse in ugly, too bright, scrubs holding a clipboard is standing there, and in that moment it's like seeing God.

"Is he…?" My voice breaks off and I don't finish. I don't have to, we all know.

"Mr. Thomlinson will be making a full physical recovery, yes." I nearly kiss her. "But," she says, lifting her hand as if she can sense my excitement. "Self harm is a very serious psychological issue. We'll need to keep him here for a week or so to recommend him for medication or therapy, perhaps both. It could take months to see results, years maybe. And even then he won't be _cured_. He never will be, not really." I nod, though her words just sort of melt together in my eagerness.

"Can I see him?" I ask.

"Are you family?" she retorts like she knows I'm a shit liar and won't know how to reply. Luckily I'm not given the chance.

"Brothers." Zayn says.

"Excuse me?" The nurse peers over my shoulder towards Zayn, one brow lifted and a hand on her hip.

"They're brothers. His name's Harry Thomlinson." _I wish._

"Is this true?" She's looking back at me now.

"Y-yes." I stutter. She eyes me warily.

"He's sleeping."

"I don't care." And I don't. I just want to see him with my own eyes and know he's really still there. That he's really still breathing. I just want to see my Boobear.

She looks me up and down before sighing heavily. "Follow me." She turns and begins making her way down a seemingly endless expanse of pure linoleum. God I hate hospitals. They're horrible. And it's even worse to think about Louis being trapped in one. Him having to sleep in a bed someone died in yesterday, separated by a curtain from some slut being treated for a venereal disease.

"Here we are." The nurse comes to a halt and I realize I can no longer see the lobby and I don't remember how I got here. "Louis Thomlinson room one-thirty-two." I shudder slightly at the thought of Louis' existence being reduced to a number on a clipboard.

"Thank you." I say. She nods and walks away. But even though she's gone and I really do want to see Louis, I can't get my feet to move. I'm too scared of what's beyond that wooden door. But I owe it to Louis to do this. So, I swallow my fear and push forward.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Louis dressed in a hospital gown underneath a turquoise blanket. But that was the last thing I noticed. No, the first thing I noticed was the scars. So, so many scars all up and down his arms, some older some fresher, some longer some shorter, some shallower some deeper. Deeper, like the ones that got him here. The ones bleeding through layers of gauze and making bile rise in my throat. The ones that dared to try and take my Loubear away from me.

I walk over to him, placing a hand on his forehead and brushing his damp bangs back into place. I felt more than a little stupid doing it but he would've wanted me to. Or would he have? Maybe I don't Louis nearly as well as I thought I did. This certainly isn't the Louis I thought I knew. I sigh drearily and pull a chair by his bed. My hand finds its way to his steadily rising chest. His heartbeat isn't nearly as strong as I remember it being.

I cry for the first time that day, loud, painful sobs that wrack my whole body. But before I lose the ability to speak I whisper to him,

"I'm going to fix this Louis, I swear I'm going to fix you."

And I swear I see him smile.

**A/N: #Sadness. Please please please please review it means so much to me, honestly. Thank you for reading even if do decide to be an asshole and not review…**


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